James Raynor and his fleet were en route to the blasted Confederate Homeworld of Tarsonis -- having coldly refused the offer of the Protoss Arbiter’s Recall ability -- when he was hailed on the bridge of his battlecruiser Hyperion.
‘On screen,’ he said feeling an odd sense of deja vu.
On screen flickered two images, the screen dividing itself in a way Raynor was sure he had never seen before. One was of a dark-complexioned young man in the oxygen mask of a Wraith pilot. The other was of a bizarre figure with half its face looking normal, the other half being a flat sheen of black metal with a Ghost-style laser sight where the eye might be, and a happy grin on its (organic) mouth that looked pretty perpetual.
But suddenly, Raynor’s pilot, a young girl of seventeen who like so many aboard had lost her partner and entire family to the Zerg, leapt to her feet.
‘It’s Tom Kazansky! The one who flew through the Zerg blockade around Vegia to rescue General Covell!’ she blurted out.
‘At your post, ensign,’ said Raynor without anger.
‘And that’s Magellan,’ said the battlecruiser’s nominal commodore with measured irony, who never said quite how he felt at having to play second string to Raynor the majority of the time. ‘The finest scientific mind in the Dominion.’
‘Acknowledged,’ said Raynor, he always seemed to adopt quite a different pattern of speech when he was sitting in the chair. ‘Ensign, tell me what you know about this Kazansky,’
‘He’s only the best Wraith pilot in the dominion, sir,’ gushed the young girl. ‘I’ve had his poster on my wall for years and years-’
‘All right, we get the idea,’ said Raynor wearily. ‘Hailers, identify yourselves -- not that my crew hasn’t already done it for me,’ he added.
‘These words they speak are true!’ beamed the metallic-looking man, laser sight sending bizarre rings of light over the lens of whatever camera he was using. ‘I am Magellan, explorer extraordinaire, and here is my colleague Kazansky, pilot of no little skill and master japester!’
‘Hello,’ grated Kazansky with the wit and humour that would forever grace all his dealings with Raynor.
‘That’s all very well,’ grated Raynor, ‘but I’d prefer you to answer another couple of my questions. What do you want with me, and why can’t we see your ships?’
‘The second question is the province of good Magellan, sire,’ stated the faceplated individual. ‘Following even a cursory examination of the cloaking devices on board friend Tom’s plane, it was simplicity itself to build my own version aboard my own craft.’
‘Right,’ muttered Raynor.
‘As for the rest,’ grated Kazansky, muffled by his oxygen mask, ‘we are here... to defect from the Terran Dominion to the Former Colonial Militia. We turn ourselves on your mercy, Commander Raynor.’
‘Defectors, eh? We certainly haven’t had any of those before,’ declared Raynor, lolling back on his seat. ‘How do we know you’re on the level, and aren’t simply working for Arcturus?’
‘For what it’s worth, sir, it’s more likely than not they’re on the level,’ whispered Raynor’s Commodore in his ear. ‘Neither of them have good records of being able to handle authority, and they’re known to respect each other more than anyone else. Their reputations precede them. Kazansky is as good a pilot as the girl says, and Magellan is either an android or a cyborg, I don’t know which.’
‘Feel free to deprive us of all our weapons if it makes you feel secure,’ Kazansky added in his nails-across-blackboard tone.
Raynor debated with himself for a while. ‘Okay,’ he said finally. ‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Drop your cloaks, deactivate your weapons systems, and proceed unarmed to the starboard rear airlock. Your vessels will be held on tractor beam until such time as you’ve proved worthy of regaining them. Meanwhile you’ll accompany us to our destination -- no prizes for guessing what that is. Raynor out.’
‘Oh, thank you, esteemed Commander!’ gushed the android, or cyborg or whatever. ‘We promise, you will not regret this. My humble scientific knowledge and my colleague’s inestimable piloting will forever be at your disposal-’
Raynor cut across his throat with a finger, and the communications officer cut the effusive robot off -- and not before time, Raynor thought, sticking his finger in his ear.
Zeratul’s parting words came back to him, as they tended to at odd times. They sounded as clear as if the mysterious Protoss was right next to him. Become a Ghost, and I will make you a Templar, Zeratul had told him. Raynor shook his head. Impossible. He and his men were caught between two vastly more powerful hostile forces, the Zerg of Kerrigan and the Dominion of Arcturus, and one or other would of a certainty get them in the end.
He shook the morbid thoughts away, as Kazansky and Magellan were admitted to the bridge and he rose to greet them.
Kazansky, clad in a black Wraith jumpsuit, was even darker, moodier and more intense than he had come across over the intercom. He shook hands with Raynor with a grip like iron and muttered some inaudible greeting. Magellan was even more bizarre. What seemed like ribbed metal trousers encased his lower body, and his left side was encased in similar black metal. He possessed some strange mechanical organ containing dozens of tools and sensors instead of a left hand, whereas the right side of his body looked relatively normal, apart from skin which looked maybe slightly too waxy. Raynor found himself unable to decide whether he was a cyborg or an android either. Meanwhile Magellan -- clanging on feet of steel -- had skipped over the deck of the battlecruiser and enveloped Raynor in a crushing bear hug.
‘So glad to meet you, Commander Raynor!’ the scientist enthused. ‘It will be more of an honor to work with you than you can possibly imagine!’
‘Thanks,’ wheezed Raynor, feeling for cracked ribs. ‘Well, now that we’ve all arrived...’ He sat back down in the captain’s chair. Kazansky and Magellan took up positions on either side of him so rapidly and naturally Raynor almost did a double-take, but revised the likely effects of this on his leadership credibility. The Commodore, feeling rudely displaced, slunk off to some other part of the bridge somewhere and looked affronted.
‘As you’ve probably gathered, we’re heading for Tarsonis. We have good reason to believe this world has been abandoned by all three races, so we shouldn’t have any opposition for living there for a while. The people we were staying with decided they didn’t want us anymore.’ Raynor sighed heavily. ‘After Tarsonis, what we do next is anybody’s guess,’
Kazansky and Magellan did not offer him any succor, or anything else. He sighed heavily, again. There was a heavy silence on the bridge for a while.
Finally:
‘Approaching Tarsonis now, sir,’ said the young pilot, who had been unable to take her eyes off Kazansky and seemed barely able to refrain from showing him her legs. Kazansky, again establishing a pattern, paid the young, attractive girl so little attention Raynor wondered if he’d even seen her.
‘Establish low orbit,’ said Raynor. ‘Tell the rest of the fleet to establish a high orbit.’
This was done, and soon the battlecruiser was skimming over the blasted surface of Tarsonis. Looking down at wrecked cities, polluted seas and nuked landscapes, Raynor’s heart sank. How could he expect himself -- or his men -- to survive on this blasted world?
His reverie was broken by a sharp, distorted voice.
‘Halt, foreign vessel, and identify yourself!’ it snarled. ‘You are surrounded by cloaked Wraiths,’ it added, then its voice took on insufferably smug tones, ‘and bear in mind that our words are backed up by NUCLEAR WEAPONS!’
For some reason Raynor couldn’t identify and which was of course completely illogical, his heart leapt within him. He didn’t understand it either.
‘Cloaked Wraiths, eh?’ mused Magellan. ‘Had I my trusty science vessel, t’would be child’s play to remove their promitive technology.’
‘Bit late now.’ muttered Raynor. ‘Anyone got any ideas who we can say we are?’
‘Halt and identify yourself!’ rapped out the voice with a new, unfitting edge. Desperation? Raynor suddenly had the feeling that the cloaked Wraiths, or the nuclear weapons, or both of them, were phantoms.
‘Do as he says, pilot,’ muttered Raynor finally, amid sighs of relief from everyone but the new arrivals, ‘This is Commander Raynor of the Former Colonial Militia aboard the Battlecruiser Hyperion. We are armed with a Yamato Gun and capital class laser batteries. Identify yourself in turn.’
Raynor could swear the unknown voice sucked in a breath. ‘We are the Cabal of Ghosts,’ it said, sounding almost awed. ‘Land according to the following coordinates, and you will be greeted.’
Ghosts? wondered Raynor? What was he being led into? It could be argued though, that the situation was playing right into his hands.
The battlecruiser complied with the stated coordinates and found itself on a blasted, potholed landing ground flanked by apparently abandoned starports and control towers. There was no-one in sight.
‘Send out three people and you will be met,’ grated the unknown voice.
Kazanksy and Magellan exchanged glances over Raynor’s head, and immediately headed for the door. Leaping up in consternation, Raynor headed after them, forced to run to catch up. He felt like a fifth wheel aboard his own battlecruiser.
No wonder the pair had a bad reputation with authority...
Having exited the ship, the three found themselves on the blasted landing area. A cold wind was blowing that smelled like it contained high radiation levels, and rain that looked like fallout was drizzling from the blackened sky. Raynor was panting from his chase. ‘That was a piece of insubordination that would have been court martialled in any of the armies I served in,’ he gasped. ‘What the hell inspired you pair to go running off like that?’
‘Why, Commander, we three contain the best range of skills within our group,’ smiled the scientist.
‘How about like little things like permission and chain of command?’ rasped Raynor, realizing he ought to give up smoking cigarettes.
‘Load of crap,’ said Kazansky with one of his rare displays of emotion -- contempt.
The argument got no further, because suddenly there materialized in front of them two young people. Raynor had been around Kerrigan long enough while she was still human not to be put off by sudden appearances and disappearances, whereas Kazansky scarcely reacted to anything, and Magellan probably had a detector built in somewhere. Either way none of them jumped. The two Ghosts looked irritated that their effect had failed.
The two young people before them were clad in the obligatory black uniforms with laser sight headsets, but their hoods were thrown back. The two of them were almost identical in appearance, with long, straight, platinum blonde hair and blue eyes, tall and thin. Jimmy took care to guard his mind, already certain they were probing it. He could only hope his errant companions could do the same.
The male of the two stuck out his hand. ‘Commander Raynor, Sergeant-Major Kazansky, Science Officer Magellan,’ he said with little warmth. ‘Your reputation precedes you.’
Raynor grasped the hand, felt it crushed for the second time that day. ‘Charmed. And you are?’
‘My name is Conor,’ no rank, no title, no Christian name, ‘ and this is my sister.’ The icy blonde woman nodded coldly.
‘We were wondering what brought you here to our world?’ queried the girl without warmth.
Your world? wondered Raynor, but cut it off, knowing how sensitive Ghosts were to unsolicited thoughts. ‘We were looking for a place to stay,’ he said carefully. ‘The people we were with decided they didn’t want us around anymore,’
‘Really? And who were these poor hosts?’ queried the male Conor.
‘I can’t tell you,’ said Raynor with finality, trying to avoid thinking about them.
‘I... see.’ said Conor quietly. ‘So what makes you think we will be any more eager to allow you onto our planet? What could you bring to our community?’
Raynor quelled his rising irritation, and tried to answer politely. Mercifully, his new friends had kept their mouths shut throughout. ‘We could defend your world, from the considerable experience and force of arms we possess,’ he said carefully, trying to avoid thinking of destroying the Overmind or battling through the jungles of Aiur.
‘So why should you not simply take your force of arms to the welcome and service of the Terran Dominion?’ questioned the girl sharply.
Raynor knew it was a loaded question. He also knew there was probably only one answer that he could give. He was almost certain Arcturus would have declared him and his men outlaws. If these Ghosts turned out to be loyal to the Emperor... then so be it.
‘I have no love for Arcturus,’ he said carefully, ‘and neither does anyone with me. We watched him turn from an idealistic rebel crusader into a power-mad dictator. And as for me, he abandoned one of my friends long ago, and left her for a fate worse than death. Whatever you think you know of Sarah Kerrigan, the Queen of Blades,’ the two Ghosts sucked in breath and looked alarmed, ‘she became what she is because of Arcturus’s betrayal.’
The two Ghosts looked at one another momentarily, then leaned forward with delighted smiles, grabbing the arms of Raynor and his companions in two-handed politician’s handshakes. ‘You are welcome here, friends,’ smiled the girl. ‘Our entire purpose here on Tarsonis is to bring down Arcturus’s corrupt rule. You may have food and shelter for as long as you wish.’
‘Come, accompany us to our canteen,’ said the male Conor, leading them to the edge of the landing field. ‘We’ll signal the rest of your men to join us presently.’
After they’d eaten a rather bland meal of iron rations done up to look like something they weren’t, Raynor and his two companions found themselves in a passable imitation of an executive lounge with the two Ghosts, sharing mud-flavored coffee and cardboard-tasting biscuits.
‘I must admit, I have my doubts about this world’s ability to support life,’ said Raynor after some small talk.
‘It’s alright as long as you stay out of the rain,’ said the male Conor, ‘and there’s quite a few supply depots that the Zerg didn’t find. Your men shouldn’t have any problems.’
‘But while you’re here, Commander,’ said the girl, ‘we would like, if we may, to request a small boon in exchange for your staying on this planet.’
Raynor almost caught the male frowning harshly at his sister, as though this utterance wasn’t part of the plan, but they concealed it too well. ‘Ask away,’ he said expansively, pretending he’d noticed nothing.
‘We would like in exchange for your stay some nuclear weapons-’ said the girl, ‘-cloning technology,’ said the man. They stared at each other with this time with undisguised irritation.
‘As for nuclear weapons, no can do I’m afraid,’ said Raynor, spreading his hands and shrugging his shoulders. ‘We are former Colonials after all. There aren’t any Ghosts among us.’
‘But as for cloning technology,’ gushed the scientific construct, ‘nothing could be simpler! One of my greatest hobbies is the cloning of higher mammals. My only regret is that the flying monkeys couldn’t actually be made to fly...’
Raynor looked back and forth, wondering what the Ghosts wanted with cloning technology, and what his scientist wanted with flying monkeys, and wondering what was the more useless question. ‘That seems sorted, then,’ he said, and sipped his coffee.
‘Indeed it does,’ said the man, all smiles once again. ‘And if there is anything we might trade for this precious boon, please feel free to ask for it.’
Raynor almost choked on his coffee. The words of Zeratul had come back to him again.
‘Well-’ he said, and stopped. Should he ask these people? Could he trust them?
Then again, it seemed fate had leant him possibly the only Ghosts in the universe who wouldn’t shoot him on sight. Or impale him on her claws.
‘I was wondering,’ he began carefully, ‘if any details on Ghost training still existed on this world.’
Conor looked surprised. ‘Almost certainly, in the training centers,’ he said. ‘But it’s of no interest to any of us -- we’re Ghosts already, of course. Why is it of interest to you?’
‘Oh, Magellan has always been interested in Ghost training,’ said Raynor breezily.
‘I am? Oh yes, I am,’ said Magellan belatedly after Raynor’s boot made heavy contact with his shin, organic or otherwise.
The two Conors exchanged glances.
‘Er -- very well,’ said the woman. ‘In that case, after Magellan has taken the relevant cloning technology to our labs we’ll take him on a tour of the training facilities, and we’ll see what we can find.’
‘Consider it done,’ said the male Conor, and they drank their mud-flavored coffee to the agreements.
